


come with the lovelight gleaming

by skioctober



Series: tales from the canonverse [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Feels, Friendship, Post-Break Up, Self-Insert, probably some other shit I can't think of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-23 18:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21324667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skioctober/pseuds/skioctober
Summary: Anna and Bucky struggle in the months following their breakup; their meddlesome but well-meaning friends get involved; the gang ends up at a honkytonk smack dab in the middle of NYC.Yeah, it's as weird as it sounds.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis & Natasha Romanov & Anna Sellers - OC, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Anna Sellers - OC, James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Series: tales from the canonverse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1369426
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my documents for MONTHS. I've got about four chapters written, and even though this was supposed to be more of a miniseries (3-5 chapters), I feel like it's going to turn into something bigger. Probably separate from this canonverse dump I've created.
> 
> BUT. I've really enjoyed working on this verse and I figured it wouldn't hurt to start posting and see where I end up with it. Hopefully y'all enjoy it, too!
> 
> Fic title taken from "Happy or Lonesome" by the Carter Family (which Valerie June covers gorgeously).

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_Last night I walked the floor_

_And the night before_

_You were on my lonely mind_

_It seems my life is through_

_And I'm so doggone blue_

_You are on my lonely mind_

“**There's a Tear in My Beer” - Hank Williams**

§

_Sweet dreams of you_  
Every night I go through  
Why can't I forget you and start my life anew  
Instead of having sweet dreams about you

“**Sweet Dreams of You” - Patsy Cline**

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy Lewis knocks on her apartment door at ten o'clock Saturday morning, and Anna honestly considers pretending not to hear.

Darcy's stubborn, though, and she knows what the date is, so no way is she going to leave Anna to wallow in peace.

“FRIDAY,” Anna mutters, rolling off the couch. Stars burst across her eyes from moving too fast. “Can you turn the music down, please?”

The volume softens and Anna sighs. Her head is just starting to ache, and it's probably from the Jack Daniels she'd had for breakfast.

She doesn't like Jack Daniels, never has, but what the hell else is she supposed to drink when she's listening to Hank Williams and moping over a breakup?

_A breakup that happened seven months ago, _she thinks mulishly.

“You look like shit,” Darcy says, looking her over when Anna opens the door.

“Thanks.” Anna waves her in and returns to her nest of blankets on the couch. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Got any coffee made?”

“No.”

“Why's your apartment so clean?”

“I'm sorry, were you expecting a pig-sty?”

Darcy levels her with a flat stare. “You usually have some clutter in here. Books, teacups, sweaters, shit like that. I've never seen your place like this, it's like no one lives here.”

Anna doesn't respond to that, just throws an arm over her eyes to block out the light. And the knowing look in Darcy's eyes. “You know where everything is.”

Anna feels rather than sees Darcy roll her eyes and listens idly to the sounds of her moving around in the kitchen: pulling a mug out of the cabinet (the Star Wars one, probably, it's her favorite), opening the coffee canister, stirring in the almond milk Anna buys just for her.

“Get up. I poured you some, too.”

Anna looks, and indeed Darcy has two mugs. Anna sits up and is handed her cup, a novelty thing painted dark blue and emblazoned with Steve's shield. She remembers buying it just to see him roll his eyes.

Darcy sits next to her and takes a swig from hers – the Star Wars mug, as Anna predicted. She nods at the bottle of Jack on the coffee table. “Was that your breakfast?”

Anna takes a long sip of her coffee. “Most important meal of the day.”

“You've been listening to sad country music.”

“Almost like I had my heart broken.”

“Fuck off,” Darcy replies, though without any heat. “I'm here because it's been seven months, and today is supposed to be your anniversary, and you've been handling all this shit _too fucking well_ so I wanted to make sure you're actually okay and not on the verge of a breakdown or something.”

Silence.

“I know.” Anna sets her coffee down. “I know. I'm okay.”

She takes a shaky breath and looks Darcy in the eyes – then bursts into tears at the concern she finds in them.

“I am _not_ okay,” she sobs, chest heaving. “It fucking _hurts_ and I'm _tired_, Darce.”

Darcy gathers her up tight, rocking her and making soothing murmurs in the back of her throat. “It's okay, I've got you. Just cry that shit out, girl.”

It takes several long minutes, but Anna's tears eventually stem. She's never really been a crier, and this episode is more out of exhaustion than anything else.

She'd done all her hard, ugly crying alone in the days immediately after her breakup with Bucky, but the hurt is as fresh now as it was then.

“Okay,” she says, sniffling and sitting back. “I'm okay. I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize. This shit sucks, so cry if you need to. Finish your coffee, too. I'm pouring out this shitty whiskey. You don't even _like_ Jack.”

Anna can't help laughing at that. “I know. But I don't like anything right now, so it doesn't matter.”

“Fair enough.”

Darcy returns to living room and flops down next to her, much closer than before, and for a little while they just cuddle and let the quiet stretch.

“I sent Nat a text,” Darcy says. “Code 4. They're two hours out, but she'll come after they debrief.”

“Is this the part where y'all stage an intervention for me?”

“Eh, not an intervention so much as we're going to go out and do something fun.”

Anna sighs. “I guess I can do that.”

Darcy pats her hand affectionately. “That's the spirit, babe.”

.

.

.

Bucky is exhausted.

The stab wound on his thigh is already healing, but he aches everywhere and he's _starving_. He wants a steak, a shower, and a fourteen-hour nap. In that order.

The meeting drags on, Steve and Tony butting heads again over the execution of their plan and how to handle the tech recovered from the HYDRA base they'd busted up.

Bucky tries to at least pretend an interest, but at this point he's already done his part. Steve and Tony will go round and round for hours, stopping only when they're ready, so as far as Bucky's concerned there's no reason for the rest of them to stay and suffer.

Natasha is the one to call an end to the pointless proceedings. She slaps her hand on the table and rises out of her chair, smiling pleasantly at them all.

“Well, boys, this has been fun, but I've got another engagement to see to. I think we can stop here for now. Tony needs to run analysis on that tech before we can do anything else.”

Her point is valid and, to Bucky's relief, breaks the tension and brings the debrief to a close.

Tony makes a beeline for his labs to begin the research, and Clint mumbles something about wandering off in search of food. That probably means he's going to track down Darcy and pilfer any baked goods she might have on hand. The thought gives Bucky some amusement.

Steve and Sam remain behind, and something about the way they're loitering prickles at him, but Sam diverts his attention by addressing Natasha.

“Where you rushing off to, Romanov? Got a hot date?”

Nat's smile is as enigmatic as ever, but there's a twinkle in her eyes when she looks at Sam. Bucky wonders if they'll ever do anything about that, if maybe they already have. Hell, maybe her “other engagement” is with Sam.

She answers honestly enough, though. “Darcy called a Code 4, so the rest of my weekend is spoken for. Try not to burn anything down while I'm gone.”

Sam snorts, nudging Steve in the ribs. “What, like the break room toaster?”

“That toaster was possessed,” Steve replies firmly, ignoring the bait. “What's a Code 4?”

_An emergency, _Bucky thinks, remembering last Halloween when Anna had called a Code 4 for Darcy's breakup with Cameron Klein.

It was a rough night, with Nat and Anna missing the rest of Tony's wild party to sit in and console their friend.

_A breakup._

It gets him thinking.

With the exception of a few pleasant, but lackluster dates, Darcy has been single since her split with Klein. None of those dates have, as far as he knows, been worthy of an SOS to her closest friends.

Natasha, of course, is standing right in front of him and clearly not in any kind of emotional distress. Granted, he probably wouldn't know if she was, and it's likely that if a man crossed her that badly Natasha would simply eliminate him and go about her business.

Which leaves only Anna – unless Dr. Foster is somehow involved in all this, but last he checked she was still happily dating Thor – and the realization that the emergency is likely for her weighs like lead in his belly.

Because if it's Anna who needs her friends this time, it's because of Bucky.

He knows what today is, too, the awareness of it having lingered at the edge of his mind all day. It was easy to ignore when he was gunning down HYDRA scum and keeping an eye on Steve in the midst of the fight, but at home in the relative peace of the tower, where reminders lurk around every corner, escape is made nigh impossible.

“Sorry, Cap,” Natasha quips, hefting up her go-bag. “That's classified. See you boys on Monday.”

She struts out of the room, and for a minute they simply marvel at the mysterious inner workings of women. Then Sam heaves an enormous sigh, looking as smitten as Bucky's ever seen him.

It's the kind of thing he'd normally razz the guy about, but today Bucky just doesn't have the energy. He's so tired, and emotionally drained, that it takes him a minute to realize he's being spoken to.

“Buck?” Steve's brow is furrowed, blue eyes watching him worriedly.

“Sorry, what?”

“Sam and I were thinking about getting dinner. Come with us?”

“I dunno, punk...”

“Captain America's too nice to tell his best pal to get his ass out of the dumps,” Sam cuts in, cocking his brow. “But I'm not. We know what today is for you, man, and it sucks, but as your friends we aren't gonna let you shut down and wallow in it.”

Bucky's jaw clenches. “Today ain't nothin' but Saturday. 'M fine.”

“Yeah, and shit floats. You've been skulking around between here and upstate for seven months, and we've let you. Now you're done. So what we're all gonna do is get cleaned up, eat some expensive-ass food, and maybe have a few drinks.”

Sam Wilson is so mild-mannered, so easygoing, that Bucky sometimes forgets he's got guts of steel. This is the man who'd aided Steve Rogers when he was branded a fugitive, who's got enough spine to set his sights on the Black Widow and pursue her.

The man who's bullheaded enough to give the Winter Soldier an ultimatum about sulking over a breakup.

Bucky wonders why it seems to be his lot in life to suffer stubborn, well-meaning best friends. Wondering doesn't make his friends any less of a pain in his ass, though, so he relents.

“Fuck it. I'm not payin' for shit, though.”

Steve's shoulders relax, and Sam's grin is positively shit-eating. “Neither am I. We'll just put it on Stark's tab with this handy expense card and call it a night.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

.

.

.

.

.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find Natasha a tricky character to write, but hopefully I did her character justice here and later on. I enjoyed portraying the camaraderie between girls and the guys, respectively, mostly because it falls under the slice of life genre I so buy into.
> 
> I appreciate the bookmarks and kudos so far. Glad to know y'all are liking it!

.

.

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_Absence makes my heart fonder_

_Is it the same with you?_

_Are you still happy, I wonder_

_Or do you feel lonesome, too?_

“**Happy or Lonesome” - Valerie June**

§

_Feelin' low as the ground_  
It's driving me crazy just waiting for my baby  
To maybe come around  
I'm waiting for my baby  
To maybe come around 

“**Black Coffee” - K.D. Lang**

.

.

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.

Anna emerges fresh from the shower to find the Black Widow curled up on her bed.

“Hi,” she says, taking the shot glass Darcy holds out to her. “What's this?”

“Tequila.”

“...I did not have tequila in my kitchen.”

“You did not,” Nat replies, downing her own shot. “I brought it from mine.”

“Not vodka?”

“I haven't had time to restock.”

With a shrug, Anna knocks back the liquor and relishes the way it burns down to her gut. “Well, thanks. And thank you for coming over right after a mission.”

Nat waves her away. “This is better than listening to Steve and Tony argue in circles. You're doing me a favor.”

“Was he...is everyone okay?”

She really wants to know if Bucky's okay, and more because it's their anniversary – or would have been – and she's caught up in her emotions. She knows if anyone had been seriously injured today Nat would have said something already.

“Everyone is fine,” Nat replies, watching her carefully. “Steve broke a finger that healed as we crossed the Atlantic, and Yasha sustained a stab wound to his left thigh. It's probably scabbed over by now.”

It pains Anna to hear he was hurt at all, but she only nods. “That's...good.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Darcy says, laying out curlers on Anna's vanity. “Every time I see Bucky he looks like he swallowed a lemon. He's clearly as miserable as you are.”

“I appreciate the effort, but that doesn't make me happy.”

“What, you want him skipping down the hall whistling showtunes while you cry into your breakfast whiskey?”

“No,” Anna mutters, picking up the tequila and swigging straight from the bottle. “I want him to pull his gorgeous head out of his gorgeous ass, get the fuck over his inferiority complex, and fucking marry me like he said would.”

“_Excuse me?_” Darcy's voice cracks like a whip, and even Natasha snaps her head toward Anna in surprise – a rare expression for the spy.

“We weren't engaged,” Anna clarifies, enunciating the words slowly, as though they had to be dragged out of her mouth. “He never proposed. We talked about it, though. We talked about it a lot.”

Anna relinquishes the bottle to Nat – her intention is to pregame _lightly_, not drink herself into a stupor before she even gets out of her bathrobe.

They're all quiet for a while as Darcy blows out Anna's hair, contemplating her words. When her hair is up in curlers, she allows Darcy to do her makeup – her friend is way better at it and Darcy's talent for winged eyeliner is unparalleled.

Nat breaks the broody mood by popping off the bed and striding over to Anna's closet. “I'll pick your clothes.”

Anna feels a a brief flare of alarm, but it passes. Natasha can only choose from Anna's wardrobe, so she shouldn't be able to pick out anything too drastic. Theoretically, anyway.

Her eyes are downcast while Darcy draws the wings, so Anna watches Nat as best she can from underneath her lashes. For a methodical assassin, Natasha is making a hellacious mess of Anna's bed with the various articles of clothing she's tossing onto it.

It takes another hour, but eventually all three of them are dressed and suitably tipsy from the tequila, ready to begin their emergency GNO.

And Anna looks good, she has to admit. Darcy has somehow turned her into a model just by tying up part of her hair and painting her face, and the clothes Natasha had chosen are both stylish and comfortable.

The dark jeans and cutout top are both soft and stretchy, and her heeled boots add height and leg without straining her arches.

Truthfully, Anna forgot she even had the boots, and idly wonders if they even belong to her. As much time as she spends with Darcy, and as often as they share clothes, they could just as easily belong to her fellow intern.

But the important thing is that Anna feels _good_, more confident than she has in months, and she finds she's actually looking forward to going out with her friends.

“Are you ever gonna pick a fucking perfume?” Darcy snarks, inspecting her makeup in the vanity mirror.

“Are you ever gonna pick a fucking lipstick?” Anna bites back, not even looking up from the bottles on her armoire. “What are you on now, attempt number four?”

“Kiss my ass.”

“Buy me a drink first.” Anna picks up a sleek, red bottle, sniffs lightly at it. Sharp, a little spicy – _clove?_ – perfect for a night out.

But not quite right.

Her eyes catch on another, a squat crystal phial shoved toward the back of the collection. She knows exactly what it is, and knows that indulging herself by wearing it will be counterproductive to her friends' efforts.

She reaches for it anyway, and pops the cap off to smell of it.

Orange blossom, delicate and sweet, with amber and sandalwood. It's a fragrance both sensual and fresh, and something she used to wear for special occasions.

It was also a gift from Bucky, for their first anniversary. He'd paid a fine chunk of money to have it specially made for her.

_Well_, she thinks dully, spritzing it at her throat, dabbing a little behind her ears. _It's our anniversary. No one has to know but me._

“Ready when y'all are,” she says, tucking her “party wallet” – a thin billfold big enough for her ID and a couple different credit cards – into one of her deep front pockets.

Darcy smacks her lips, apparently settling on attempt number five, and turns to grin widely at them. “Hell yeah, let's get this shitshow on the road!”

Nat rolls her eyes while Anna laughs, and gestures to the door. “After you, code caller.”

They file out of the apartment, passing an amused Dr. Banner on his way to catch some shut-eye, and Anna resolves to actually have a good time for once.

There'll be time for wallowing later.

.

.

.

After tearing into a steak the size of Texas, and washing it down with a $40 glass of bourbon, Bucky can admit that Sam's idea had been a good one.

He doesn't bother telling Sam this, because the insufferable ass would lord it over him for at least a month, but Bucky's grateful to have friends like Sam and Steve. Good people who know when to let him sulk and when to give him a kick in the ass.

He'd needed both.

Bucky doesn't normally like upscale places like the steakhouse Sam had chosen. It's the kind of place where the servers are wearing ties and the menus have no prices. Bucky feels out of place in his long-sleeve shirt and jeans, like he's attracting undue attention.

Until he remembers he's literally a WWII hero turned HYDRA assassin turned Avenger, and that anything he does, anywhere he goes, he attracts undue attention.

It takes a while, but eventually Bucky's able to relax and focus on the meal, on the company. After the grueling mission, and on top of the mental and emotional exhaustion, it's nice to be able slow down and just savor the experience.

They all linger around the table a while, just shooting the shit and enjoying the pure normalcy of being a group of friends out to dinner. Around ten, when they pick up on signs of the staff preparing to close, Sam leaves an astronomical tip and they head out into the city.

“Where to now, man?” Sam asks, apparently leaving it up to Bucky. “World's your oyster. At least, New York is.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Fuck if I know. You mentioned beers and I'm good for that. Don't give a shit where we get 'em.”

“Tavern?” Steve suggests. It's a favorite of theirs, cheap beers and people who don't give a shit that the Avengers are hanging around shooting pool.

“Closed until August,” Sam replies. “Had a massive brawl a few weeks ago, took a lot of property damage. Heard it ended with a stabbing.”

“Damn,” Steve says, eyebrows hiking up his forehead. “You know another place?”

“The only place I can think of is that dive bar Agent Wade was talking about last week. Jack's, Blackjack's. Something like that.”

“Better than nothin',” Bucky mutters, not sure he means it. The Tavern is familiar, comfortable. The idea of being in a new place, having to analyze and catalog new information, makes his gut twist. “I just want a damn beer.”

Sam grins. “Guess we're going to Jack's.”

He summons an Uber for them and the ride is long enough that Bucky starts to fidget in the backseat, mind beginning to wander – and wonder.

An image flits through his mind – the flash of red hair, an easy smile – and he wonders where she is, what she's doing.

Did Darcy and Nat decide to stay in when they staged their rescue? Were they drinking wine, watching movies? Or would they get dolled up, head out on the town?

Bucky can imagine Darcy barging in and sweeping Anna up in a tide of hair pins and makeup, can picture perfectly Natasha dressing her up like a little doll, and the two of them dragging Anna out of the tower.

She always did have a tendency to burrow when she was upset, scrubbing the apartment top to bottom and nesting on their couch –

_Her couch_, he thinks, correcting himself. It would be her couch, because it was her apartment. Where she lived alone. Because he had left.

_Fuck._

Steve's knee nudges his, drawing Bucky out of his downward spiral. Steve's eyes are concerned, and Bucky feels guilty for making him worry. Again.

“'M fine,” he murmurs, shaking the weight off. What Anna does now is none of his business anymore. “Just getting tired.”

Steve sees through the lie – admittedly not his best – but doesn't press him. “You wanna call it?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah. Almost there anyway, and I'm...not having a bad time.”

“Wow,” Sam pipes in from the front seat. “I'm touched. Really, Barnes, I didn't know you liked me so much.”

Bucky's only response is to kick the back of Sam's seat, but he doesn't fight the smirk pulling at his lips. Leave it to these idiots to pull him out of a funk.

When they finally pull up outside the bar, Bucky's surprised to see it's only about half full. The music spilling out onto the street has a distinctive sound and he narrows his eyes at Sam.

“Is this place a...?” He struggles a moment, grasping for the right word.

“A honkytonk,” Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Dammit, Wade. I hate country music.”

“I dunno,” Steve says, already grinning. “Seems like fun. Let's check it out.”

Steve leads the way inside, Sam trudging after him, mumbling under his breath. Bucky just rolls his eyes. But he's never been to a honkytonk, and it _might_ be fun.

“Can't believe they have a honkytonk in fucking New York,” Sam grouses.

Bucky claps him on the shoulder as they walk inside, enjoying his misery in the way only close friends can. “They have everything in New York.”

“Yeah, yeah. Where's the damn bar? Stark's about to pay for a shit ton of beer.”

.

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.

.


	3. Chapter 3

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_I fall to pieces_

_Each time I see you again_

_I fall to pieces_

_How can I be just your friend?_

_I fall to pieces_

_Each time someone speaks your name_

_I fall to pieces_

_Time only adds to the flame_

“**I Fall to Pieces” - Patsy Cline**

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.

Anna stares up at the wooden sign hanging above the door, proclaiming the bar to be _Blackjack's_ in bold lettering.

“They have a honkytonk in New York?” she asks, smiling bemusedly.

Darcy grabs her by the hand, pulling her inside. “They have everything in New York!”

“Apparently.”

The inside is dim and smoky, and somewhere a jukebox is pouring out the sad tones of a steel guitar. It sounds like a Patsy Cline song, but over the din of clattering billiard balls and drunken revelry, Anna can't tell.

Natasha slinks off into the crowd, likely to canvass their new locale before she settles in, so Darcy and Anna wind their way to the bar. They plop down onto the stools and smile winningly at the bartender when she comes to take their order.

“Vodka tonic,” Darcy calls, leaning over the bar so that her cleavage spills over the low neckline of her top. The bartender takes immediate notice, and Darcy's eyes sharpen slyly.

Anna rolls her eyes. “Crown and Coke, please.”

With a lingering look toward Darcy, and her admittedly spectacular breasts, the bartender moves off to make their drinks.

Darcy swivels on her stool to pin Anna with mischievous blue eyes. It's a look Anna knows well, and immediately she's on guard against whatever mayhem her friend is plotting.

“Soooo,” Darcy drawls, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “I'm not gonna do the whole set-you-up-with-someone-new bullshit, because I hate when people do that to me, but there are some pretty cute-as-fuck guys in here and I think you should at least try to dance with one of them.”

Anna swallows the sigh that tries to rise up. It's not the worst thing Darcy could have said, and indeed it's a relief she's not legitimately trying to set her up with someone. Anna suspects that falls under Natasha's purview and wonders how long she has until the spy starts lining up suitors for her.

“I dunno, Darce...” She raps her nails idly on the counter. “I'm having a nice time just hanging out with y'all. I'm happy to have a few drinks and call it a night.”

“That _is _what I wanted,” Darcy allows. “But you did really well to, like, leave your apartment and have a good time. Might as well keep it going.”

Darcy breaks to smile at the bartender when their drinks are served, and while she bats her eyes flirtatiously Anna takes a sip of her cocktail and considers the suggestion.

She has no desire to try and start dating again – and she will duck and dodge Natasha for as long as humanly possible – but there's no rule saying she has to. Having one dance with a guy in a bar doesn't make them lovers, and maybe it _would_ be fun.

Anna loves to dance.

When the bartender has moved off to the far end of the counter, Darcy returns her attention to Anna. “Listen, Buckster fucked you over. Yeah, he's got a lot of shit to deal with and his baggage is heavier than most, but you fought him tooth and nail to let you love him and he's the one who dropped the ball. It sucks and it's bullshit, but there's no reason you can't go out and meet people and just have a good fucking time, okay?

Anna takes a long sip of her drink, mulling that over. She's always been slow to heal, almost reticent, but she knows there's a truth to Darcy's words and ignoring it won't change anything.

She sighs, and turns to Darcy. “Who would I dance with?”

“Fuck if I know, dude. There's a dozen guys in here our age, which one looks good to you?”

Chewing her lip thoughtfully, Anna casts her eyes around. A tall figure, dark-haired and strongly built, catches her eye and she points him out. “Maybe that guy–”

Anna breaks off abruptly, because now that she's really looking at him the realization slams into her. Everything from the slope of his shoulders to the fall of his hair is familiar, and when he turns around – as though he feels her eyes on him – her suspicion is proved correct.

With startled blue eyes, Bucky Barnes stares at her, mouth agape, like a deer caught in headlights. He looks, Anna thinks, as stunned as she feels.

Vaguely, she hears Darcy mutter a faint “oh fuck”, but that fact barely registers in her mind. All she can think about is that in a random bar she's never been to, out of the dozens of men she had to choose from, she picked the very one who broke her heart to begin with.

Stunned, she can only manage to blurt out, oh so intelligently, “Are you _fucking_ kidding me?”

.

.

.

Bucky watches idly while Steve smokes Sam in yet another round of eight-ball. It's their third game so far, and despite Sam's best efforts he can't seem to get ahead.

His expression of profound consternation amuses Bucky to no end.

“Yuck it up over there, Barnes,” he grouses, downing the last of his beer. “Why don't you make yourself useful and get us another round?”

Bucky shrugs, still grinning to himself. “Whaddya want?”

“Eh, get me a Yuengling.”

Steve cracks off another shot, sinking the four ball with disgusting ease. “I'll take a Guinness.”

Bucky nods and makes his way down from the loft where the billiard tables are. He's never seen a bar laid out like this, but he figures they had to make-do with the space they had available.

The main floor is more crowded than when they'd first arrived, but the smoke and noise aren't as bad as he'd feared. In any case, he hasn't felt the walls closing in on him yet so he counts that as a win.

He winds toward the bar, skirting the edge of the dance floor, and catches the eye of one of the bartenders. It's the shorter woman, with yellow hair and a rod stuck through her left brow, and she gives Bucky a frank once-over.

“What can I get you, handsome?” she asks, practically purring.

The attention doesn't unsettle him the way it used to, but he ignores it all the same. “One Yuengling, one Guinness, and, ah – a Budweiser, I guess.”

She nods, clearly put out with his lack of interest, and turns away. Bucky sighs to himself, wondering how he ever used to be a ladies' man.

“Not your type, huh?”

Bucky glances to his right to see a man decades older than himself – in a manner of speaking – eyeing him with some amusement.

Bucky allows himself a smirk. “What gave me away?”

The man smiles, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Son, you couldn't look less interested if you tried. Someone else on your mind?”

_All the time_, he thinks. He hesitates to answer, then decides why not? “Yes. I... There's no one else like her.”

The man nods, understanding. “That's a feeling I know well. My Iris has been gone, oh, seven years now. Took my whole heart with her, and I'll never love another.”

Bucky swallows. “I think it's the same for me.”

The man looks at him so knowingly, and so kindly, Bucky is transported back to his childhood, to a memory of his father affording him the same fond expression. “You had a fight.”

Bucky huffs. “One way to put it. Been apart seven months now, and every day feels like I made the worst mistake of my life. Can't go back, though.”

“Says who?”

“Seen too much,” Bucky mutters, not exactly answering the question. He spares the bartender a glance when she drops off the beers. “_Done_ too much. She deserves better.”

“She definitely deserves more credit from you,” replies the man, to Bucky's surprise. “I shot a lot of men dead in Vietnam, many who were younger than myself and I was barely twenty. I was a twisted, hateful man when I got home, but Iris fought her way through to me. She loved me through every ugly thing I ever said and did, and I'll tell you the God's honest truth, she saved my life.”

He pauses to sip his own beer, and to let Bucky mull those words over. “Your girl, she know what all you've seen and done?”

_She knows everything. _“Yes.”

“And was she still there afterward? She ever once look at you and say “this is too much”?”

Bucky thinks back to that night, to the hideous fight they'd had, with Anna arguing passionately that she wanted to stay, that she loved him enough fight his demons _with _him, and begging him not to throw it all away. “She never left.”

_But you did,_ whispers an ugly voice in his mind, and Bucky tries not to flinch at the sound of it. _You ran away and left her alone. _

_ Coward._

“There's your answer.” The man's voice pulls Bucky back to the conversation. “That girl knows her own mind, and you'd do well to listen. I reckon she sees something worthwhile in you. Women often see what doesn't show.”

“They do.” Bucky taps his fingers against his thigh, thinking. “I wanna see her again. Talk to her. Don't know where to start.”

“You love her?”

“More than anything.” The truth of his words rings clear, and Bucky smiles in spite of himself.

The man winks. “I'd start with that.”

Bucky lets his mind drift back over the years, to the memories he has of her. Anna laughing with him, smiling for him, crying over injuries he'd gotten on a bad op. She'd spent the entire night next to his bed in medical.

He remembers how nervous he'd been to ask her on that first date, and how achingly sweet their first kiss had been. So perfect he'd thought his battered heart would burst.

The first time they made love – on Christmas Eve, which had always oddly pleased her – it was like he'd been reborn. Made anew inside her and finally, finally whole again, and he'd shed tears of such profound joy.

How could he ever have turned away from her?

“Well, it's late and you've got plenty to think on.” The man polishes off his drink and slips off his stool. “You have a nice night, young man, and don't keep your girl waiting too long.”

“What's your name, sir?”

“Charles Mooney.”

Bucky makes a point of shaking Charles's hand, careful to use his flesh arm. “James Barnes. Thank you, Mr. Mooney, for the advice. I appreciate it.”

“Just you make sure you take it to heart.”

Charles ambles on, and Bucky remains at the bar a moment longer. Now that he's admitted to regretting his decision, he wonders if he has the guts to do something about it.

He sighs, deciding for now to simply enjoy the rest of his rare night out. He turns to collect the beers and a sharp prickle of awareness has him tensing, feeling watched.

Bucky smells her before he sees her.

Delicate orange blossom, sweet and sensual, drifts teasingly by him and he recognizes it instantly. He turns and his blue eyes lock onto her, a ripple of surprise resonating through him.

As though summoned by his thoughts, Anna sits at the opposite end of the bar, staring at him like she's seen a ghost. Beside her, Darcy looks about six shades of alarmed.

Bucky's senses are sharp enough that even from his end of the bar, and with all the noise around them, he hears Anna's startled exclamation of, “Are you _fucking_ kidding me?”

In some distant part of his brain, Bucky shares the sentiment, and can only think to himself, completely dazed, _What the hell?_

It all goes downhill from there.

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End file.
